


Exposed Priorities

by Tysolna



Category: Mass Effect, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mass Effect Fusion, Future Fic, Gen, Mass Effect 3, Multi, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Other, Science Fiction, Video & Computer Games, Work In Progress, not as cracky as the summmary appears to be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-05
Packaged: 2018-01-11 07:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tysolna/pseuds/Tysolna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the early years of the 21st century, humanity discovered ancient ruins on Mars. Shortly afterwards, an alien ship reached Earth, bringing death and destruction.  Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are cryo-preserved and hidden in the ruined Archive on Mars, where almost 200 years later they are found by Liara T'Soni and Commander Shepard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exposed Priorities

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr user jaggedrain (ArcanaMortis on AO3) had a plot bunny for a Sherlock / Mass Effect cross-over fic (you can find the bunny here: http://jaggedrain.tumblr.com/post/74811066179/a-wild-plot-bunny-appears). Patternofdefiance supported this endeavour, and together they nudged me toward writing this. 
> 
> NB: If you know the Mass Effect universe but haven't played Mass Effect 3 yet, beware: There will be spoilers. If you have never played Mass Effect – good grief, why not? :-D

_Sherlock was dreaming. They had said that there would be no awareness, no dreams, but it seemed his mind was too busy even in his current state._

 

He looked around the white, sterile room from his perch on the exam table.

A chuckle came from the next table along. “Getting cold feet, are you?”

Sherlock made a face at John. “Are you going to be insufferably hilarious all through the procedure?”

“Just trying to lighten the mood”, John answered.

“Well, don’t”, Sherlock snapped and turned to face another boringly white, sterile wall. They would be stuck here for two more days, without any books or anything else to take their mind off what was to come.

After a few heartbeats of silence, John sighed deeply. “Yeah”, he said, “Sherlock, I’m scared too. But I’ll be damned if I stay behind and let you do this on your own.”

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John’s frightened but determined face, and he felt his own soften. “You’re leaving everything and everyone behind, John. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

John straightened and raised his head, his military bearing carrying defiance.

“Of course I’m sure. I'm not leaving you. Can’t let you run around the universe on your own. God only knows what you’d get up to without someone to rein you in.”

Sherlock frowned. “I don’t need _reining in_.”

 “Yes you do”, John shot back.

Sherlock conceded the point with a grin.

 

Overhead, the alien ship screamed away into the night.

 

  _Somehow Sherlock knew that these weren’t really dreams. They were memories. He let himself drift through the rooms of his mind palace, opening doors at random._

 

“You want to do _what_?” Amazement, shock and disbelief in John's voice after Mycroft had explained his proposal. Sherlock sat back, hands steepled under his chin, calculating the risks.

 “I believe you heard me, Doctor Watson” - a bad sign, Sherlock knew that Mycroft rarely used John's last name these days.

 “Oh I heard you”, John said. “You want to turn your brother into an ice lolly and stick him into some ruins on Mars that nobody knows about in the hope that one day he'll be found by someone and revived to save the universe? Does that sound about right?”

 “I would not have put it quite so prosaically, but it's essentially right, yes.” Mycroft leaned on his umbrella, trying unsuccessfully to hide his tiredness.

 “And you are a hundred per cent sure that this will work? Because otherwise you're sending your own brother to his death. Might as well though because by the time he's supposed to wake up again, you'll be long gone.”

 Mycroft looked pained. “I am well aware of all this, John. I would not have come here otherwise. And the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”  
  
“Oh god, not another one!” John threw his hands up and turned to Sherlock, his movements stiff with anger and, yes, Sherlock was sure, with fear.

 “Your brother is as bad as you are, Sherlock! All logic and no emotions, two little Mister Spocks! Am I the only one here who can see that there is something amazingly wrong with this bloody plan?”

 Instead of replying, Sherlock reached out to switch on the television. It was the news, but news were pretty much all that was on the telly these days. At the moment it showed the alien ship as it hovered over a desert, metallic squid-like shape glistening in the sun, while fighter planes were circling it, bringing home exactly how enormous it was. The ship had come out of nowhere ten days ago, utterly destroyed Vancouver, Berlin and New Dehli with an unknown beam weapon, circled the Earth, unfazed by anything the hastily assembled forces of all nations had thrown at it, and then left again.

 John scowled at the television, then at Sherlock. “Your point?”

 When Sherlock remained silent, Mycroft answered instead. “Cause and effect, John. We discovered the Mars Ruins, and half a year later this... thing... arrives. It was testing us. The advance guard, if you will. We don't know when the main fleet will arrive, but when it does, we will have to be ready. Sherlock's intellect is second only to my own – and I cannot leave, there is too much work to be done, too much at stake. Besides”, Mycroft turned to Sherlock, “you have a more creative way of solving problems, little brother. Whatever happens, and whenever it does, you're our best chance of survival.”

Sherlock scoffed. “Aren't you exaggerating a little, Mycroft? Survival? What can one man alone do that all the brains of Earth combined cannot?”

John cleared his throat. “Not alone.” Both Sherlock and Mycroft looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Not one man alone”, John repeated, speaking to Sherlock. “If you are going through with this harebrained plan, then I'm coming with you.”

Sherlock stared at John, amazement and gratitude washing through him and forming a lump in his throat through which he could not speak.

 

_Sherlock vaguely wondered if he should feel cold. He didn't, but then he did not feel anything at all. He supposed that this might be what being dead was like, only he couldn't be dead because he was still thinking. Cogito ergo sum. Quod erat demonstrandum._

 

Once Sherlock and John had made their decision, everything was hurried along as if the powers-that-be didn't want to give them any chance to reconsider. Mycroft was there every step of the way, keeping close to Sherlock, explaining about the cryogenic stasis technique – something apparently first developed in the 1970s, refined and brought to perfection. Likewise manned space flight, even to Mars. John was at first amazed, then outraged that all these advances were kept from the general populace, who still thought that wireless internet was a pretty good thing to have.

 Saying goodbye to their lives so far had been difficult, especially since no-one was allowed to know what was actually going on. Mycroft had concocted a cover story – a case in America, a crashed plane, a sad and tragic death – so what they said could only be along the lines of, “see you in three weeks”. Mrs Hudson promised to bake them a cake when they returned. Molly said she would be saving diseased body parts for Sherlock, Greg interesting cases. And every time they parted, Sherlock and John knew they would never see them again.

 Only three weeks after Mycroft had been to Baker Street, the two men found themselves in the white, sterile room that would be the last they would see in their own time. They had been health-checked, inoculated, purged, and sterilised, and now they were waiting for the initial drugs to start working. It was boring. But at least Sherlock was not alone. He thought about this, and concluded that some things needed to be said before they settled down for their long sleep.

 “John?”

 “Mmm?”

 “I don't think I ever said...” Sherlock fumbled for words, but persevered. “Thank you.”

 “You're welcome, Sherlock.” John smiled. Sherlock frowned. Did John not understand?

 “I mean it, John”, he continued. “I would much rather that you didn't follow me into this uncertain future. I would rather know you safe. But nevertheless... I am glad that you're here. That we will see this through together, whatever happens.”

 John was still smiling, though his eyes glistened. “I know, Sherlock. And you are welcome.” He stretched, loosening his muscles. “Look, if there's a choice between being stuck on Earth without you, and seeing the future with you, well – that's not much of a choice, is it.”

 The door opened and two medical technicians in full-body isolation suits came in. “Gentlemen”, one of them said, “it's time.”

 Sherlock hopped off the exam table and turned to John. “Whatever happens, John”, he said, reaching out, “it has been an honour.”

 John took his outstretched hand and shook it. “Likewise, Sherlock.” They stood for a moment, until John let go with a final squeeze of Sherlock's hand. “Now let's go kick some alien arse.”

 A sedative was administered, probes attached to their skin, and they slowly lost consciousness while their bodies were gradually cooled down.

 

_They had said that there would be no awareness. But Sherlock was floating in the icy waters of his memories while outside, centuries passed._


End file.
